Flying
by Partly
Summary: Murdock returns to the VA after a mission with the team.


He walked back into the VA and waved absently at the night nurse as he walked passed. He could feel her shocked stare follow him down the hall, so he turned and whistled, calling, "Here, Billy. Here boy."

He held the door open for his invisible dog and grinned back at the nurse who was finally grabbing for the phone. He had been gone almost three weeks this time, and they hadn't had time to scam him out properly. He knew that Richter would come as soon as he could. He'd have to have a physical, and probably a full blood work-up. Murdock stretched painfully out on his bed. Richter would not be happy. If Murdock had kept track accurately (and he usually did) he had three broken ribs, twenty stitches holding closed a knife wound, and the rather large dose of drugs that would probably interact badly with the meds he got from the VA. Then there were the various cuts, abrasions and bruises that came from everyday life as a member of the A-Team. At least he hadn't been shot. The Doc really hated bullet wounds.

But it had been worth it. It had been _amazing_. Well, except for those five days in the hands of the bad guys. But they were amateurs, really. At least compared to some of the thugs he'd dealt with. He could have been out in a minute if the kid hadn't been so sick. And scared. Murdock couldn't bail on some poor kid, especially not since the whole reason they'd been there was to save him. So he stuck around, deflecting the goon's attention and taking their abuse. In the end Hannibal and the guys had come in through the front door as usual and they had gotten the kid to the hospital in time.

Ah, but those two weeks leading up to being captured, those were glorious. He had spent almost as much time in the air as on the ground. He had been in heaven when he found out that he'd have to go undercover as a stunt pilot. _A stunt pilot_. Man, he hadn't flown like that since he had been assigned to the Thunderbirds. Oh sure, he'd done a lot of flying with team but that was taxi work. Even when he managed to get some free time in a plane he never really had time to challenge himself.

But this, _this_ gave him a reason to live. He could make a plane – any aircraft – do things that were almost physically impossible. Two days after he was hired he had the starring roll in an aircraft spectacular. He had kids waiting for autographs and pilots wanting to shake his hand. But most importantly, he had the sky. When he took a plane up fast enough, spun at the top just right, then dove for earth with the wind screaming past the cockpit and the ground trying to catch him, there was a moment, a moment almost lost in the fight for control, when he was free. Free of everything. Free of the demons in the dreams. Free of the memories that weren't quite real. Free of the nagging fear that he wasn't good enough. In those moments, he soared.

It took two weeks for the team to locate the kidnappers. They were in a cabin on the edge of the desert. The team had gone in guns blazing, explosions pounding, and they walked right into a trap. He should have known. "If your attack is going really well, it's an ambush," he recited aloud in his room. Face had yelled the warning, but Murdock was too far committed. He had been up on the roof of the van and had clearly seen the rocket launcher. He dove off and rolled behind the weapon, firing wildly and scattering the thugs arming it. Two more shots destroyed the launcher and guarantied a safe retreat for the team. Face had seen him go and the team had made a gallant attempt at retrieving him, but they couldn't do it then. He knew they'd regroup and come back, but that didn't make the gnawing fear in his stomach any better. He'd managed to convince the goons not to kill him, instead they took him back to their base and put him in with the kid.

In the next five days they demonstrated their low intelligence and lack imagination in their attempts to make him talk. When they tired of his endless parade of sideshows they tossed him back in the cell with the kid and left them alone. It took two days to get the kid to talk. They hadn't hurt him – not physically – but he was sacred and he was sick. He finally responded to Murdock's tales of "Freddie, the Flying Squirrel". Murdock had almost run out of new adventures for Freddie when the team arrived.

Murdock eased slowly into a less painful position on his bed and closed his eyes. BA had positively oozed concern when they busted into the cell, Face insisted that they take him directly to a hospital and Hannibal had been more energetic than usual when disposing of the bad guys. Murdock grinned despite the twinge of pain that it caused. There was one thing that made him feel better than flying. It was the feeling he got when he was with the team. When they knew what the others were thinking without having to ask. When the entire team was jazzed and moving together, with unexplainable feeling of electricity that flowed between them. He may never leave the ground, but in those moments he truly soared.

He pulled his hat down over his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep. And he dreamt of flying.


End file.
